ArcaMax

There's a quote that's been following me around lately, showing up in podcasts, books, and the back of my own mind: "You can do anything, but not everything." Supposedly, that's from author David Allen, but it feels like the whispered wisdom of every millennial who's run headlong into the wall of their own limits.

I bounced off that wall again last Friday. I had an hour to the deadline for delivering my writing. I was fielding a call from a reporter and some texts from other elected officials. I had two phones pinging with last-minute emails trying to steal me away, dinner being slowly Lego'd together in my mind, and two bored kids during their summer break. A request from my son barely rounding the corner into the room I was in, got a stern, "I need. Just. Five. Minutes. For the Love of PETE."

All the hats that I had balanced fell off watching him do an about turn with his shoulders tucked toward his head. But I would need to do what my daughter tells me, which she explained is the new expression of being focused for the kids: I would need to "lock in."

Then I needed to go find my Mom hat.

We grew up in a culture that told us we could do it all. Unfortunately, we believed it. We believed we could have a fulfilling career, a thriving family, well-tended friendships, an active civic life, a meal-prepped fridge, a side hustle or two, and a consistent gym habit. We believed we could do all of that while staying informed, kind, and accessible. We believed that saying yes was a measure of character.

But here's what I'm seeing now, deep into the tired middle stretch of life: we can't do it all. And we certainly can't be all things to all people.

Still, there's a part of me that resists this truth. After all, isn't it noble to try? In a world that feels frayed at the edges, isn't it admirable to be the one who shows up, says yes, and stretches just a little further? That's how I see myself: dependable, capable, generous with time and energy. I am these things, but there's a capacity issue, and that exists for everyone sometimes.

There's outside pressure to perform, too. Perhaps pulling back will seem like you're letting others down. But the slack that we pick up leaves our souls taut with strain, and there is nothing noble about trying to carry what no one person can hold.

I've realized that striving to be everything to everyone doesn't make me dependable. It makes me hollow. It makes me brittle. Stretching ourselves thinner does not make us stronger. It spreads us so far that even when we are physically present, we are not fully there. I know that the ones I'm trying so hard to show up for notice that emptiness -- sometimes even before we see it ourselves.

When you say yes to everything, you say no to yourself. That's a quiet betrayal we rarely name, but we feel it. It shows up in the bone-deep exhaustion we brush off as normal. In the resentment we don't want to admit. In the way we start to disappear from our own lives, one small compromise at a time.

It turns out that the alternative to doing it all isn't failure. It's clarity. It's choosing who and what truly matters and letting the rest go. It's accepting that you don't owe everyone everything.

So, this is where I am now: trying to resist the pull of endless obligation. Trying to remember that "enough" is something I define, not something measured by other people's needs. I can't be all things to all people. Some days, I can barely be a few things to a few people. But when I do that with care, intention, and honesty, it's enough.

And I'm learning to let that measure of enough be sacred.

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Cassie McClure is a writer, millennial, and unapologetic fan of the Oxford comma. She can be contacted at cassie@mcclurepublications.com. To learn more about Cassie McClure and read features by other Creators Syndicate writers and cartoonists, visit the Creators Syndicate website at www.creators.com.

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